Song Yuzhang: Chapter 71 - Mid-Autumn Festival
Chapter 71: Mid-Autumn Festival
The fifteenth day of the eighth lunar month was a day for family reunion. No matter how big the issue, it would be set aside for now—what mattered most was everyone in the family being together. Of course, Song Yuzhang couldn’t really understand the joy of this day; he had been alone for a long time. One person made a home, and every day was a reunion—worry-free in its own way.
Song Mingzhao came out of the bathroom fully dressed and saw Song Yuzhang still lying in bed. One long leg was stretched diagonally out from under the blanket. His calf was completely uncovered, and the blanket was slanted above the knee, half-concealing a portion of his fair and toned thigh—vaguely revealed, like a high-slit qipao on a woman.
Song Mingzhao sat down and touched his calf. “Why are you getting up so late today?”
“Tired.”
Song Yuzhang raised his leg and rested it on Song Mingzhao’s thigh, curling his toes back to hook his waist. “Fourth Brother, give me a massage.”
Song Mingzhao scolded, “What am I, your servant?” But his hands obediently started massaging the calf.
“You came home late again last night,” Song Mingzhao said.
“The bank’s too busy.”
“Nonsense. Back then, Eldest and Second Brother didn’t come home that late every day.”
“They took turns being busy—naturally there was more free time.”
Song Mingzhao gave him a glance. Song Yuzhang had a teasing smile on his face. Song Mingzhao lightly smacked his calf. “Stop talking nonsense!”
He wanted to say that once Song Qiyuan started helping at the bank, he’d see if Song Yuzhang still had any excuses to come home late—but that was a sour comment, sour on both sides, so he held it back.
“You stayed in the bathroom a long time after coming home last night,” Song Mingzhao said, pretending to be casual. “Did you pick up the scent of some woman’s makeup and couldn’t wash it off?”
Song Yuzhang’s smile faded just a bit, though Song Mingzhao had his head lowered and didn’t notice.
“No such thing. You sleep beside me every night—don’t you know I’ve been holding back?”
Song Mingzhao’s face turned red as he glanced at him. “No one’s stopping you.”
Song Yuzhang looked at him, half-smiling. He lowered his voice. “Would Fourth Brother like to help me out?”
Song Mingzhao slapped his calf again. “Asshole—what kind of crap are you saying?”
“That scolding sounded great. Say it again.”
“You little rascal…”
Song Mingzhao pounced on him and gave him a rough rubdown, messing up his hair. “Get up already, lazybones. Go to the bank early and hand out the red envelopes so everyone can get off work early and go home to their families. And you—don’t go anywhere tonight. If you do, I’ll turn against you!”
Eyes closed, Song Yuzhang smiled as he listened. “Got it, housekeeper.”
Song Mingzhao was still basking in the warmth of brotherly affection when he heard that last word and, both annoyed and embarrassed, smacked him on the shoulder. “If I manage you again, I’m not human!”
Song Yuzhang arrived at the bank early and told Liu Chuanzong to distribute holiday red envelopes to everyone. Even though the bank was in a period of “empty national coffers,” he insisted that not a single cent be spared—precisely in times like these, one couldn’t show weakness.
“Just have Song Qiyuan reimburse it tonight,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
Song Yuzhang went to the second floor to look down. He really liked this spot—it allowed him to oversee everything in the bank hall below, giving him a sense of peace and control.
After Liu Chuanzong had finished giving out the envelopes and returned to report, Song Yuzhang reflected that ever since Liu Chuanzong had started working closely with him, he hadn’t made a single mistake. Whatever task he was given, he completed it with finesse. Song Yuzhang didn’t know how Song Zhenqiao had failed to appreciate such a capable man. Someone like him should be treasured by anyone who had him.
Song Yuzhang pulled out a red envelope from the inner pocket of his suit and handed it to Liu Chuanzong.
“You know the bank’s situation—there’s not much money. Just a little for good luck.”
Liu Chuanzong didn’t take it.
“You don’t want it?” Song Yuzhang asked.
Only then did Liu Chuanzong reach out and accept it. “Thank you, President.”
Song Yuzhang rested both hands on the railing and gave Liu Chuanzong a once-over.
Strangely enough, Liu Chuanzong was already forty-one and still hadn’t started a family. Even if he was a house servant, that shouldn’t have stopped him. While he wasn’t particularly handsome, he wasn’t unpleasant to look at either. His hair was greying, but his face didn’t show age, and he was always clean and tidy. He probably earned a decent sum, so logically, getting married shouldn’t have been difficult.
But since Liu Chuanzong never brought it up himself, Song Yuzhang wasn’t about to go probing. What if he accidentally poked at something sensitive?
That day passed peacefully at the bank, just like the days before. Sometimes it gave Song Yuzhang the illusion that the bank was functioning as smoothly and naturally as the sun, moon, and stars—without a single hidden threat. But each night when it came time to count the vault, reality remained harsh.
After closing time, Song Qiyuan entered from the back door to reconcile accounts with Liu Chuanzong.
Song Yuzhang sat nearby, smoking as he watched them go over the books. Annoyed, Song Qiyuan said, “If you’re not checking the accounts, get out.”
“I’m not even talking. Can’t I smoke in peace?” Song Yuzhang replied with a smirk.
Ever since Song Yuzhang had “taught him a lesson” last time, Song Qiyuan realized he’d been deliberately baited. But the mother and daughter really had been in a pitiful situation, so he let them stay—and resolved to remind himself of two things: first, a person should do what must be done, so they won’t live in regret; and second, never drop your guard around Song Yuzhang. He was too skilled at playing mind games.
Seeing that Song Qiyuan wasn’t answering, Song Yuzhang turned and deliberately asked Liu Chuanzong, “Old Liu, am I in the way here?”
Liu Chuanzong replied without hesitation, “It’s no trouble.”
Song Qiyuan glanced at Liu Chuanzong. He still didn’t know exactly what role Liu had played in Song Zhenqiao’s death, and asked, “Has he inherited your loyalty too?”
Liu Chuanzong didn’t respond.
Song Yuzhang, smoking and smiling, shrugged and walked out.
About half an hour later, when the accounts for the day were settled, Song Qiyuan came out. Song Yuzhang asked him how his interaction with Director Liao had gone.
Song Qiyuan said, “He may reek like a typical politician, but he really does understand opera quite well.”
Hearing this, Song Yuzhang could tell they had gotten along, and smiled faintly. “Everyone has many sides, naturally with their own strengths and weaknesses. Besides, politicians and opera actors have similarities—no wonder they sympathize with each other.”
Song Qiyuan sensed that the first part of his sentence sounded like a self-justification, and the second part struck home sharply with its bitterness, leaving him conflicted—shaking his head yet nodding at the same time.
“Third Brother, let me ask you something.”
“What?”
“This daily trip of yours to the bank—how many people know about it?”
“Earlier on, Liu Chuanzong came to talk, so Eldest Brother and Second Brother might have gotten a vague sense. After that, I was careful not to let anyone notice.”
“What if someone followed you?”
Song Qiyuan sneered, “I’d know. I studied at military school for two years.”
Song Yuzhang almost choked on his own laughter. He coughed twice and said, “Good then.”
Song Qiyuan glanced at him. “Are you sick?”
“No, no,” Song Yuzhang quickly said, “but thanks for your concern—I’m fine.”
“Take care of yourself,” Song Qiyuan said calmly. “Fourth Brother is simple and careless. If he can take care of himself, that’s already good enough.”
The tone made it sound as if he really saw him as a brother who had split off from the family, which gave Song Yuzhang a strange feeling. After a pause, he lowered his voice. “Third Brother, one more question.”
“What?” Song Qiyuan lowered his voice too.
“Are you going home for dinner tonight?”
Song Qiyuan gave him another glance and saw a smile on Song Yuzhang’s face. He actually considered it. “No, if I’m not there, Eldest and Second Brother will raise hell.”
Song Yuzhang had originally wanted to tease him a bit, but seeing how burdened he looked, as if carrying two debt-collecting ghosts on his back in the form of his brothers, he gave up. Some relatives are better off not having. Song Qiyuan was unlucky—born into a family like this, stuck between awareness and confusion. It was its own kind of tragedy.
Liu Chuanzong drove Song Yuzhang back to the Song residence. Just before getting out of the car, Song Yuzhang asked, “Want to stay for dinner tonight?”
It was a tough question—one that wasn’t easy to answer. Liu Chuanzong gripped the steering wheel and, after a long silence, slowly shook his head. His neck moved stiffly, like a rusted machine. Song Yuzhang didn’t press him, got out of the car, and went into the house.
It was the Mid-Autumn Festival, and the Song residence should have been festively decorated. But with so few servants left, there simply weren’t enough people to do all that labor-intensive work.
So it looked much the same as always—only the hall had some minor decorations. Song Mingzhao arrived after Song Yuzhang. Once he returned, the house instantly became livelier.
He had bought many paper lanterns, instructing servants to hang them up. Others, meant to float on the lake, were set aside. He even showed Song Yuzhang two rabbit lanterns and said they should play with them together that night.
Song Yuzhang couldn’t help laughing. “Fourth Brother, how old are you?”
Song Mingzhao protested, “Last year the whole family played together!”
But even as he spoke, a shadow passed over his face.
Last year, this day—everything was different.
Song Yuzhang tousled his hair. “Fourth Brother, I’ll play with you tonight.”
Song Mingzhao gave a soft “Mm” and quickly grinned again. “Just the two of us!”
While Song Mingzhao busied himself in the hall, Song Yuzhang went to the kitchen.
Several master chefs were still employed by the Songs. One was especially skilled at making the fresh meat mooncakes loved by Haizhou locals—his craftsmanship was superb. When Song Yuzhang arrived, a fresh batch was just out of the oven. He had never had them before and found them delicious.
“You’ve made quite a lot.”
“As per tradition, we prepare plenty and deliver them to the various households per your instructions.”
Song Yuzhang wiped his hands in his pockets. “Send some to Third Brother’s place.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And to Liu Chuanzong, too. You know where he lives?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Send one to Vienna as well—say it’s a gift from me to their boss.”
“Yes, sir.”
Song Yuzhang picked up a lime from the table and sniffed it. “And also...”
Though there were many people at home, the atmosphere at the table was somewhat subdued. Meng Sushan said, “Tingjing, should we ask Father to join us?”
“He’s so sick, just let him rest. I’ll go see him after dinner.”
Meng Sushan smiled and placed food into Meng Tingjing’s plate. “You like this dish—eat more.”
“Thank you, Sister.”
Meng Tingjing got up to serve soup for Meng Sushan.
A servant called from outside, “Young Master, someone from the Song family has brought mooncakes.”
His hand froze mid-motion.
Meng Sushan smiled. “I love the fresh meat mooncakes made by their chef. Fifth Brother is so thoughtful—let them in quickly.”
The servant entered with the mooncakes. “Greetings, Young Madam, Young Master Meng. Happy holidays.”
Meng Sushan gave him a red envelope with a pleased expression. “Thank Fifth Brother. Take some pastries home later so Fourth and Fifth Brothers can try them too.”
“Thank you, Madam. Fifth Young Master sends his regards to you and Young Master Meng.”
Meng Tingjing looked up sharply, eyes stern. “Did you make that up, or did he say it himself?”
Meng Sushan looked at him in surprise.
The servant quickly answered, “Fifth Young Master said it himself. Oh, and he also sends his regards to Old Master Meng. He heard he’s ill and hopes he recovers soon.”
“Fifth Brother has always been considerate,” Meng Sushan said, smiling.
She quickly had her own servants give another red envelope and escort the Song family servant to the kitchen for pastries.
But she noticed Meng Tingjing’s face had turned very grim. She touched his hand. “Tingjing, what’s wrong? Are you still upset with Fifth Brother? He’s long since let it go…”
Meng Tingjing put down the ladle and walked out.
She gaped in surprise and hurried after him.
The same mooncakes were sent to the Nie family. Nie Yinbing was out front. Upon hearing they were from the Songs, he frowned. “Leave them in the kitchen.”
The servant, getting no tip and being hastily dismissed, left feeling bewildered. The Nie family was usually generous—what happened this year?
Grumbling, he headed for the gate—just in time to bump into Nie Mao, who knew him and quickly pulled him aside to ask.
The servant explained everything. Nie Mao immediately understood and pulled out a red envelope. “That’s just our Second Master’s temper.”
The servant accepted it and left beaming. As he did, the Nie family’s car pulled up—he barely noticed it.
Nie Mao opened the door for Nie Xueping.
“Watch your step, Master.”
As Nie Xueping got out, he glanced back. “Was that someone from the Song family?”
“Yes, sir. You’ve got a sharp eye—it was them. They sent mooncakes. Their chef’s fresh meat mooncakes are unmatched.”
Nie Xueping nodded slightly and started up the steps. “Did we send anything in return?”
“Second Master met with them,” Nie Mao said with a forced smile.
Enough said.
“But I gave a tip.”
Nie Xueping walked silently a few steps. “Come with me to the study.”
At the Song house, their Mid-Autumn dinner was just the two brothers—but it was still lively. Song Mingzhao’s chatter was worth five people’s. After eating and drinking, the two walked the lawn carrying rabbit lanterns. The servants were on holiday, releasing lanterns onto the lake.
A bit drunk, Song Mingzhao tried to use his lantern to scare the big white bird, but it counterattacked—pecking near his feet and chasing him backward, yelling for help.
The servants laughed. They knew the bird was harmless and called out advice, “Don’t run, Fourth Young Master. If you don’t run, it won’t chase.”
Song Mingzhao ran, dragging the lantern. “If I don’t run, it’ll peck me! Xiao Yu! Save me!”
Song Yuzhang laughed. “Fourth Brother, it’s a rare good day—let it have a little treat too, a fresh bite.”
Everyone burst into laughter.
In the middle of the laughter, Nie Mao arrived. He was also amused by the bird chase. “What a sight!”
Song Yuzhang quickly composed himself and went to greet him. “What brings you here?”
“Thanks for the mooncakes, Fifth Young Master. This is a return gift from our Eldest Master.”
Nie Mao respectfully handed over a box.
Song Yuzhang accepted it. “Mr. Nie is always so courteous.”
Nie Mao smiled. “Happy holiday, Fifth Young Master.”
Song Yuzhang gave him a tip as well.
He walked under a lantern and looked at the box. He meant to open it but instead ran his palm gently across the sandalwood lid, then looked up at the bright moon.
At this very moment, how many people were looking at that same moon?
And how many of them were connected to him?
So many people in the world—who knew?
A wave of sentimental “though far apart, we share the same moonlight” emotion washed over him. But he hated such soft, melancholic moods. So he shoved the feeling aside and somewhat roughly opened the box.
Inside was a delicate, small glass lantern. He took it out. No candle had been lit inside yet. As he turned it, he could faintly make out a moon pattern.
It was the Mid-Autumn Festival—of course it had to do with the moon.
He set the lantern aside and only then noticed a slip of paper at the bottom of the box.
“Xiao Yu, Xiao Yu—!”
Song Mingzhao was exhausted from the chase, sweating but happy like a child at play. He ran up, calling, and threw himself onto Song Yuzhang’s back. “What are you doing hiding here... ‘A bright moon rises over the sea; from faraway places, we share this moment’… Who wrote this? Beautiful handwriting. Was it you?”
Song Yuzhang swiftly pressed the slip of paper between his fingers and folded it shut.
“No.”
“Then who wrote it?”
Song Mingzhao had asked casually, but seeing the strange look on his brother’s face, his own excitement instantly cooled like a bucket of cold water.
Song Yuzhang didn’t answer. He tucked the poem into his pocket. “Come on, let’s go release lanterns with the others.”
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